


Waiting

by insomniacjams



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Cam has a bruise kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomniacjams/pseuds/insomniacjams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How did you get that bruise Cam?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd work, just for fun. Hope you enjoy it.

It starts on a Monday night; it's 4 AM and Cam should be asleep, but he's at a 24-hour sandwich shop eating a turkey and provolone melt, waiting for Eric. He's always waiting for Eric.

"Hey," the chair slides out from under the table. The legs make an ear-splitting squeaking across the tiled floor. The single worker looks over from the counter, but Eric doesn't turn around. Instead, he's leaning in close and reaching for Cam's face. Eric's always touching Cam -- he's a physical person, but he doesn't act that way with everyone else – it's just when he's at Cam's side, and he has been since the lockout in '05.

"I got you a sandwich," Cam says, pushing the plate with the chicken grill across the table. There's some chunky salsa on it that Eric likes when they come to this shop. They only come to this shop after a bad loss. They won last night; Cam doesn't want Eric to ask why they're here.

"You have a bruise," Eric tells him, ignoring the food. "Right here-" he reaches up to touch Cam's cheek, "Does it hurt?"

"No," Cam says. Eric presses on the bruise, a feather-light pressure that's barely there, but it shoots a spark down Cam's spine. He shivers and brushes Eric's hand away, quick to remind himself that he shouldn't waste his time on things he can never have.

"How did you get it?" Eric asks, finally letting go of Cam's face in favour of the sandwich. A piece of chicken falls out the end and onto the plate, followed by some chopped up bell peppers. It's a weird sandwich, Cam thinks.

"I don't get how you eat that," he says.

"How did you get that bruise Cam?" Eric asks again. He's using his captain voice, like he thinks it has some sort of effect on Cam after all these years. Cam wonders if Eric knows that it's everything else about him that causes this effect, not his tone of voice. Eric's still talking. "I mean, if you got into a fight, I won't hold it against you."

"I didn't get into a fight," Cam says.

"Then what is it?" Eric asks, his words jumbling together through a mouthful of sandwich; his foot taps on the tiles beneath their feet impatiently.

"I picked up," Cam shrugged, like it was normal to go home with a girl, and then call your best friend to a sandwich shop at 4 AM with a bruise on your face (and some other bruises he can't see, but Eric doesn't need to know that). 

"Did she hit you?" Eric asks, dropping his sandwich. He wipes his hand on a napkin, dabs at his lips, and then removes the napkin from his face to frown. Under the dim lights of the shop and the glare of streetlights reflecting off the window they sat near, he looks ghastly and perhaps, worried.

"I asked her to," Cam shrugs, like Eric should know about his laughable and slightly inconvenient fetish. Eric stares at him over his plate, and Cam sighs. "Eric, look... I strap blades to my feet and stand in front of guys who can shoot a rubber disc over 100 miles per hour for a living. I asked her to because I wanted her to, not because I have some sort of sick thing for being punished."

Eric's face twists; Cam can read most of Eric's facial expressions, thoughts, and social cues at this point. He can tell when Eric needs a moment, and right now, he needs more than just a moment. Cam leans back in his chair, and waits for it to sink in. They've been close, close for a long time, but Cam's always been fairly quiet about his sex life, and Eric has always sounded about as vanilla as they come. Cam can spare a moment, or twelve.

Finally, Eric stops staring at Cam. He shakes his head back and forth like he's trying to shake his thoughts out through his ears. Then suddenly, Eric jerks forward and touches the bruise again. "Does it feel good?"

"Yeah," Cam shrugs. He sips at his forgotten soda for a second, but he doesn't break eye contact with Eric. He doesn't offer anything else, and Eric takes the hint and reels back.

"As long as you're happy," he says finally; he's blushing a bit, and the pink looks out of place on his pale cheeks when they haven't been skating for hours or working out. Cam diverts his attention to his empty plate.

"I don't know, I think so?"

"You think so?" Eric's looking at him critically now, trying to analyze him like a computer who hasn't learned to compute yet. Cam knows this expression well because he uses it himself on the rookies when they do something particularly baffling.

"I guess, I mean, it's not like I'm looking to date the girl I just fucked," Cam says. "On that note, it's almost six and I should get some sleep."

"Are you good to drive?" Eric asks. Cam shrugs. 

"I don't have a car."

"I'll drop you off," Eric tells him. Cam doesn't get an option, and if he had one, he'd have accepted the ride anyway. 

The drive to Cam's house is oddly quiet. Before he opens the door, Cam can't help but turn to look at Eric in the faded streetlight glow one last time. "Thanks," he says, not for the ride, but for crawling out of bed at 4 AM to eat a sandwich because Cam gets lonely sometimes.

"Hey," Eric tells him softly, "I'll always be there when you need me, even if you have to wait a little."

"Yes Capt'n," Cam salutes him jokingly, and when he walks into his empty house, he reaches up and touches his cheek -- he pretends his fingers belong to Eric, and he presses on that bruise, feather-light, just to feel the pressure.

It feels just as good as when that girl had punched him.

 

Cam doesn't think about that night for a long time; nearly a month, in fact. He doesn't think Eric gives it much thought either, but obviously he's wrong, because Skinner catches him by the elbow one day as he's walking out of the arena. "What's up?" Cam asks.

"Why has Eric been checking you out in the locker room lately?" Jeff asks casually, and Cam raises his eyebrow so high it disappears into his hairline.

"He's been what now?"

"He's been staring every time you take off your shirt," Jeff shrugs. "I wasn't the one who noticed it, but once the rookies pointed it out-" Jeff cuts himself off, like he's said too much. Cam still thinks it's weird hearing Jeff refer to other plays as rookies – Jeff will always be a fresh-faced teenager to Cam.

"Why don't you ask him yourself," Cam says, nodding to Eric across the parking lot as he approaches them.

"Let's get lunch," Jeff suggests when Eric walks up to them. That's how they end up back at the same sandwich shop in the middle of the day.

"I've never been here when it's light out," Eric chuckles. Cam notices how he politely elects not to mention their last meeting.

"Me neither," Cam says. Jeff just shakes his head, because the kid likes to eat greasy sandwiches at all hours of day, and not just after a few beers or during an emotional crisis.

"So," Jeff starts, once they're seated with their meals. "I- No, the rookies and I want to know why you-" he points at Eric, "-our dear captain, have been checking out Cam every time he changes within ten feet of you."

"Is that what this meeting is about?" Eric sounds mildly amused, but his face tells a different story -- he doesn't look quite displeased, but perhaps like he'd just swallowed something sour, and Cam knows the sweet tea Eric's drinking doesn't taste like lemon.

"Yes." Jeff just smiles: wide, dimpled, and innocent.

"I'm not checking out Cam," Eric tells Jeff, exasperated. "I'm not checking you out," he repeats to Cam this time, and if his heart sinks just the slightest bit, because he's been hanging on to a sliver of hope, well, he won't admit it or let it show. He thinks Eric may see it anyway, because he blurts out after, "I'm sure there are plenty of people looking at you though."

"If you're not checking him out then what are you looking for?" Jeff goads Eric through a mouthful of meatball marinara. 

This time, Eric doesn't bother to answer Jeff. He's looking straight at Cam when he says, "More bruises."

"I haven't had time to go out," Cam tells him.

"Do you need it? You seemed happier after that one time." Jeff looks back and forth between them, lost. 

"I wouldn't mind," Cam tells his sandwich.

"I can do it, sometime, if you need it," Eric says. Cam doesn't know what to think about Eric volunteering to lay a hit on him. Cam doesn't want to say yes because he's afraid he'll like it too much.

"It doesn't even need to hurt," he says, because as bewildering as this whole situation is, he knows not to pass up a good opportunity. He also knows that Eric couldn't hurt an ant; he'd probably have a hard time landing a good punch on his best friend's face. "I'd, uh, I'd like that. Just tell me when." Eric nods, and goes back to his sandwich, like the whole exchange never happened.

Jeff just jerks his head awkwardly between the two of them, like he's not sure what he just witnessed. To be fair, Cam isn't quite so sure himself either. He wolfs down the rest of his sandwich, makes an excuse, and bolts from the shop.

At home, in the comfort of his own bed, he takes a deep breath and reminds himself that now he just needs to wait. He needs to wait for Eric to tell him when.

 

"When" turns out to be after a slaughtering by the Capitals led by Ovechkin and his four point night. Cam hasn't felt so utterly deplorable after a loss in a long time. He goes home, showers, and puts on clean clothes. He does his tie a little too tight around his neck, and is about to call a cab to hit the clubs when his phone buzzes on his dresser.

The text asks, "Is now a good time?" Cam stares at it for only half a second before he decides to forget the cab and call Eric instead. When Eric picks up, Cam only has one thing to say.

"Yes."

Eric shows up on Cam's doorstep a mere ten minutes later -- he must've been driving when Cam called. He's still wearing his suit from the arena. He's got a six pack in his hand. "Hey."

It's not weird. They hang out at Cam's all the time. They drink beer, shoot the shit, and play video games like normal guys. Cam thinks it's fine, and it is fine. Neither of them mentions the game. Neither of them mentions why Eric's over and Cam's not at a club trying to pick up.

They get a few beers deep before Eric takes a deep breath and finally breaks. "How do I do this?" He asks.

"How do you want to? What are you comfortable with?"

"I don't know. I haven't done anything like this before." Vanilla, Cam thinks. He wonders if Eric's going to do it all -- tie him down and fuck him until he can't feel his bottom half for a day, or if he'll just leave it at a few bruises on his shoulder blades. Cam thinks bruises on his shoulder blades would feel great.

"Can you, um, give me a massage, but do it like... Super hard?" Cam doesn't know how to ask for what he wants. All his energy goes into keeping the stutter from his voice. He's nervous. He doesn't know why he's nervous, because he's liked Eric since the beginning of time or something, but he's never been nervous around him.

"Yeah," Eric says. He sounds breathless, like he's been running for hours. Cam can imagine Eric coming in from a run, sweaty and red, panting. Cam wonders if he'd look like that in bed. "Turn around," Eric tells him, and Cam obliges, letting Eric position him to his liking and settle his hands across Cam's shoulders.

It starts out as a regular massage; Cam has to admit it feels good. He can practically see his muscles loosening under Eric's fingers as he involuntarily relaxes into the touch. Suddenly, Eric presses down harder, and Cam can feel the familiar throb of pain as his head lolls back on its own accord – his mouth falls open and he has to bite his tongue to stop a nearly pornographic sound from slipping out. 

He lets out a huff of breath when Eric pulls away. "Was that good?" He asks. Cam hesitates for a second before he nods then pulls his shirt over his head. He twists his head around trying to catch a glimpse of the marks; he can tell his shoulders are red, but probably not bruised.

"Can you do it harder?" Eric nods, facing him, grabbing his shoulders again. Cam closes his eyes, and imagines Eric isn't right in front of him, because he's not too sure if he can restrain himself when Eric finally does work up the nerve to imprint those marks into the skin.

It takes another three beers. Eric's turned a nice shade of pink by the time he finally loses his inhibitions and his fingers thrust against Cam's skin like a hammer to a nail. It shoots needles and pins across his back, and this time he does let a soft moan slip out as he collapses forward onto Eric's lap, letting Eric massage him roughly like thick putty.

"You really like this, hmm?" Eric asks softly; his voice sounds strange and it echoes around Cam's ears, but he doesn't really hear it. Cam grunts in acknowledgement, rolling his shoulders upward and pushing his body forward toward Eric involuntarily. He's worked his way around so he's face-first in Eric's lap by the time Eric manages to work another dark red mark into his back, rolling down the muscles there like a machine.

Eric feels warm under his body, like a heater on the right setting for the nighttime chill. Cam feels like a blanket, with his face smashed into Eric's thigh. He likes Eric's thigh. He thinks he should lick it, but Eric's wearing jeans, and licking jean isn't exactly a good decision, so Cam nuzzles instead.

"What are you doing?" Eric asks, and Cam doesn't really have words for what that feeling of warm contentedness he feels, so he just continues to nuzzle at Eric's thigh until Eric's fingers stop pressing into his back. "You should, uh, you should probably stop that."

"Why?" Cam asks, but as Eric shifts uncomfortably, Cam knows before Eric can answer him. "That's fine. I don't mind," Cam says. He's mostly talking to Eric's thigh – the growing bulge in Eric's jeans – and his voice is oddly soft, but he's sure Eric heard him by the twitch that follows.

"I do," Eric's voice comes out as a dull whimper; Cam's unsure of what to make of it so he pulls his face farther away from Eric's thigh, but only a bit. He's stretched out across the couch, cat-like and relaxed. 

"I could do something for you too, if you'd like."

"I-" Eric starts to respond then stops suddenly like he's just realized what Cam's offering.

"You don't have to say yes," Cam says. His eyes are closed; his body feels like a separate entity from his soul. He's completely and utterly complacent. He wonders if it's easier for Eric to answer him because there's no eye contact, because after a while, Eric does respond.

Though his voice sounds strained, he says, "Not tonight, but maybe next time."

Cam likes the sound of "next time" so he just smiles because he'll wait forever for Eric if he has to, and if Eric falls asleep on his couch with Cam laying on his lap, well, neither of them talk about it again.

 

"Holy shit Ward, what happened to your back?" Jeff doesn't usually look at Cam when he's changing, at least not that Cam has noticed, but perhaps he's been doing it more since he's caught Eric doing it. Eric notably does not look toward Cam or Jeff, instead focusing on his skates. 

Cam knows what Eric looks like right now; his cheeks are dusted in pink, his brow furrowed, and his eyes guilty. Cam knows what Eric feels like right now, and his inner monologue would probably only contain "oh" immediately followed by "shit". Cam smiles, just a little bit.

"None of your business," Cam tells Jeff, who frowns, but doesn't pursue his question until after practice, when he corners Cam in the parking lot. 

"Seriously Cam, are you okay?" Jeff asks, looking at his back like he's got freaky x-ray vision stuff going on and he can see through Cam's suit jacket (Cam hopes he can't, and that he's just a nutcase). Cam can feel when Eric walks up behind him – Eric's just got that kind of presence, or maybe they've been friends for so long Cam's developed some sort of Eric-detecting sixth sense, he's not sure.

"He's fine; just drop it, Jeff," Eric says, and Cam's lips twitch – it's almost a smile, which is a step in the right direction, maybe. He doesn't know why Eric's standing up for him; it’s not like Cam's embarrassed or anything, but he lets him do it.

Jeff crosses his arms and stares down the captain, but after a moment he does nod. "Did you guys want to get lunch?" He asks, though he sounds wary, like he's unsure whether he wants to have lunch with them. Cam's about to agree but Eric cuts him off just as he opens his mouth.

"Cam and I were just going to my place."

"Okay, then I'm out," Jeff gives a half-hearted wave, and turns back to his car. "Later guys."

"We were?" Cam raises an eyebrow at Eric, who shrugs.

"If you want."

"I don't know, I get the feeling this is about what you want," Cam retorts. Eric pauses then blushes, the pink creeping across his cheeks like a rainstorm on a sunny day. 

"Yeah, maybe. Sorry. Did you want to come over?"

Cam smiles and knocks his shoulder into Eric's. "Yeah, but you're buying me beer."

"You're a cheap date," Eric laughs, and they head to their respective cars for the journey.

Cam thinks he needs to re-evaluate his life choices when at two in the afternoon after a quick lunch, he and Eric are tangled together on the couch with open beers forgotten on the table, and Cam's practically melted in Eric's lap as Eric holds him tightly around the forearm.

Eric's hand grips him harder than Cam's ever had anyone squeeze his arm before – he jerks Cam hard, rolls him over onto his stomach, and yanks his shirt off, letting the buttons fly in all directions. Cam should probably care about the shirt, but he doesn't, he can't, when all that's going through his head is the sound that echoes through the room when Eric lands an open palm on his back.

Cam doesn't look up; he can't look Eric in the eye, because he knows Eric would look worried, caring, or anxious, and Cam doesn't need this moment ruined. He squeezes his eyes shut, buries his face right between Eric's legs, and bites down hard on his tongue as Eric's nails rip their way across the skin on his back. "This ok?" Eric asks him.

Cam just lets out a low grunt, and Eric hums in acknowledgement before he continues to claw at Cam's back, letting Cam arch up desperately into it. "God, Eric, just-" Cam pants, forcing himself to complete his thought. "I just, can I… Pants," he chokes out, which in hindsight doesn't make much sense, but it does get Eric's hands on his belt, so he figures they're either really good at telepathy, or he's gotten his point across.

Working his pants off has the exact desired effect; Eric's hands knead the muscles on Cam's lower back, moving to press against his ass, before he slaps it, leaving a sharp red mark on the skin, and Cam just gasps, rutting against the couch like an anxious teenager.

Eric reaches for Cam's boxers, but Cam's hand flies out, grabbing Eric by the fingers. "No, wait-" He sucks in a deep breath, trying to find his words again. "I don't- I'll just… I'll ruin your couch." Cam chances a look up, and Eric just looks completely debauched; like he's the one instead of Cam who's been writhing on the couch for the past half hour.

Eric stands suddenly, and Cam wobbles a bit before he catches himself before face-planting into the couch. "What the hell?" He asks, watching as Eric hesitates, pulls off his shirt, then hauls Cam up by the armpits.

"Bed," he demands, his voice sounding raw as he bodily drags Cam upstairs. In a daze, Cam doesn't argue. In the right state of mind, Cam wouldn't have argued anyway. Eric wrestles Cam through the doorway of his bedroom, and then down to his bed – the sheets are soft, and they smell clean. Cam's been in Eric's room a few times, but never face-first on his bed, and he wonders if Eric's sheets always smell this fresh.

They smell like Eric too, his distinct scent a thick presence in the air; it makes Cam relax even more, his body feeling boneless, yet desperation burns in his head. He squirms on the bed until Eric wins the scuffle with his clothes – then he's naked, on the bed, next to Cam, peeling Cam's boxers off with a pair of warm and gentle hands.

"Hit me, come on," Cam pleads, and when he looks up to Eric with wide eyes, Eric brings his fist back and lands a solid punch on Cam's left shoulder. He's hovering over Cam, his legs are shaking, and then his whole body is shaking as he drops on top of Cam clumsily, like he had just been punched.

"I'm sorry," he says, and then he's lying there, like a blanket covering Cam's whole body – his breath comes out in short puffs against the curve of Cam's neck – Cam carefully flips around under Eric so that they're facing each other, and forces Eric back up so they can look at each other.

"I asked for it," Cam reminds him, and Eric gives him a hesitant smile in return.

"God, come on," he says, and nudges Eric upward. The world seems to slow down – the funk that Eric's hands had worked Cam into earlier is gone, and it's easy now to pull Eric close to him and hold him, rub his back, his shoulders, and just touch him. God, Cam can't believe he has him this close.

It's Cam who shoves his hand between them first, wrapping his fingers around Eric's erection, giving it a few experimental tugs while keeping an eye on Eric's facial expression, trying to find a hint of objection – there's none.

Eric gets with the program pretty quickly, and it probably looks ridiculous since he's still lying on top of Cam, covering him like a human lid, but he's trembling apart, shaking from Cam's touch, and Cam can't believe he's so lucky to be the one who gets this reaction.

After Eric comes all over Cam's stomach, Cam cleans himself off with a t-shirt, the first thing he can grab, and rolls them over so that he's hovering over Eric; he tries to keep the dumb smile from his face, but mostly fails as he jerks himself off hard and fast after Eric grips his shoulders again, pressing against the old bruises. 

Cam lets the familiar sting settle into his skin as he collapses into a heap next to Eric, his whole body exhausted, spent from the afternoon's activities, and morning practice. Eric's halfway to sleep, his eyelids sliding shut, when Cam tosses an arm protectively over his middle, and watches him drift off.

If they're going to talk about it, he supposes he can wait for Eric to wake up first.

 

Eric wakes up around supper time. By the time he drags himself out of bed, Cam's got coffee and food laid out in the kitchen – he's still there, he doesn't know if Eric thought he'd leave, but he didn't, and Eric doesn't look surprised to see him puttering around the kitchen, so Cam thinks he did something right.

"Thanks," Eric says quietly as he takes a seat at the table. Cam nods, and drops into a chair next to him; he hooks his feet on the underside of Eric's seat, his body turned sideways, and the small gesture makes Eric smile like Cam knew it would.

"You need to buy groceries," Cam laughs.

"Probably," Eric makes a face of displeasure at the prospect of shopping, and looks at the chicken on his plate. "This is good though, thanks. You didn't have to make food- You're probably hurting pretty good right now," he says, and then blushes when he realizes what he said.

"It's fine; it's good," Cam grins, and Eric's face is so red it could rival their home jerseys. Cam watches as Eric bites his tongue and shoves a forkful of rice into his mouth to shut himself up. "Hey, Eric," Cam says to the table, "I just… Thank you. For earlier."

"No, don't-" Eric cuts himself off, dropping his fork. He's talking to his food, like Cam's talking to the table. "I mean, I didn't do that for you." Cam looks up, which makes Eric look up too. Eric's still red; Cam's starting to feel embarrassed by proxy.

"What do you mean?" Cam asks, reaching across the small space between their chairs to tangle his fingers in Eric's, just to stop the way Eric drums his nails against his leg when he's nervous. 

"I like you Cam," Eric mumbles, then looked right at Cam when he says with slightly more confidence this time, "I really like you, and I should have said that first, and I'm sorry I didn't. I just- you seemed so sure of yourself, and I didn't want to ruin anything."

"I know," Cam shrugs, feeling Eric tighten his grip on his fingers. "I've been waiting for you to figure it out, though I was starting to think you'd never get there. I didn't think you'd be into this though, so yeah, this is good," Cam smiles crookedly.

"You, what, you knew?"

"Of course I knew it," Cam smiles. "I know you, and I've known you for a long time. I was just waiting for you to catch up." Eric sighs, and lets go of Cam's hand in favour of the back of his head. 

"Maybe I should've done this first," he says, leaning in, and pressing his lips gently against Cam's. Cam doesn't let him get too carried away though, pulling back not too long after. 

"Maybe, but I didn't either, so it's fine," Cam shrugs, because it isn't a big issue to him.

"So, now that we've got this out there…" Eric trails off, looking at Cam, who's very obviously wearing Eric's clothes since they're way too big on him.

"Eat first," Cam scolds him, like a child. "And then if you can punch me in the shoulder again I'll let you fuck me."

"Hey-" Eric frowns, looking at Cam. "If you don't want to right now, if it still hurts from earlier, I can wait."

"No," Cam laughs. "I've waited long enough for you."

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to elaborate more on this, and how Cam's not really into being dominated or pushed around, and how he doesn't think any of it's odd, he just really likes the way the bruises feel, but I haven't got the time so now you have this.


End file.
